


Seen and Unseen

by helena_s_renn



Category: Greta Van Fleet (Band), Music RPF
Genre: Backstage, Boys Kissing, Guyliner, Incest, M/M, No actual sex, Pre-show, Sibling Incest, but plenty of inferences/references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 07:43:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: Another of those little backstage moments that would never happen...Ten minutes to showtime, he'd better get his head in the game. His bass was in tune, he knew the setlist, he should be fine.Enter Jake in eyeliner.





	Seen and Unseen

**Author's Note:**

> *Not suggesting the real GVF are 'involved' with each other like this. This is fiction and should be read as such.  
*Warning for one small homophobic slur (from someone outside the band) & a couple of moments that hearken back to "Two by Three", in which Sam had a night with an elder statesman rockstar.  


-2018, December

_"So the skinny one says to the stoned one, she says..."_

Sam waited for the punchline. The voice graveled by a lifetime of smoking raised to falsetto. 

_"...'Josh paints on his pants. You could get away with it.' How gay is that!? But he said no, whassis name, Jake did. Thank god. One of them entitled little fucks running around with his junk on display is enough."_

Life on tour would be next to impossible without roadies, Sam knew this. A person's dad, uncles, cousins, friends from school, etc. not to mention themselves doing the literal heavy lifting could only cut it for so long. 

Still, he didn't care for being referred to as 'she'. Nor the other... opinion. They'd worked hard for this. Every single day, since their hands grew enough to play real instruments, sometimes till they couldn't feel their fingers and their backs knotted from the weight of their guitars. That bloke was going to get set straight. Later, though. 

Not to mention, Jake was damned sexy with that sloe-eyed, slightly anemic, and yes, _stoned_ eyelid configuration.

Wait a second. 'Bloke'? Where had that come from? Sam shook his head and furtively adjusted his zipper. Ten minutes to showtime, he'd better get his head in the game. His bass was in tune, he knew the setlist, he should be fine. "No flubbing during Curtain," he told himself, same as before every show in the last year. He'd written the bassline himself, but that didn't mean it wasn't challenging.

The others joined him, one by one. Sam almost laughed when he saw gold lamé. It was becoming standard issue package wrapping, kind of like the traditional red-and-green theme of Christmas. Letting his eyes glaze, he deliberately didn't 'see' what the audience would be gawking at in detail for the next hour. Speaking of, Danny was making rude gestures with a banana, which he'd need for the anti-muscle cramp effects of the potassium by mid-show. Sam laughed and tried to figure out what seemed different about him. New necklace? No...

Jake came last, antique Gibson in hand. Something... Something seemed different about him, too. Then Jake looked at him straight on, leaving Sam speechless and half hard. 

It was hardly the time and place. Yet Sam, for his part, had to experience this up close for himself first, before the world at large got to see. The black didn't make Jake's eyes pop - it put them in deep shadow, rendering him the savage little teeth-baring hellion Sam hadn't seen of his brother in a few years. There was a thudding heart in his ears and it beat, "Now, now, now!"

It wasn't like Sam to be demanding, not in public. He found his tongue: "Can I talk to you for a second? In private." 

Shrugging, smirking, Jake waved the hand not still clutching his guitar in a 'lead the way' gesture. Behind him, he heard Josh protesting and Jake assuring his twin it would be quick. No doubt. 

"The fuck is that?" Sam hissed when they were reasonably sure no one would see or hear, somewhere far backstage. The air laced tight around them, pregnant with the pre-show hype. "On your _face_." 

"What?" Jake's lips curled up, the acute angles of the upper smoothing as his grin widened. He knew what. He'd been shooting for it. 

Tiny iridescent beads of sweat popped out to wreath Sam's hairline as he continued to stare. Sometimes he looked the baby he was. Others, like now, it was like his facial bones sharpened and lengthened and transformed him into a man ten years their senior, a man in his prime. He stalked his brother, using his height advantage to lord over him. "You know. Don't play dumb." 

"Unknot your panties, dude. Danny's eye gunk is darker than mine." 

"I noticed. Should I go find Danny? Is that what you want?" Sam couldn't quite manage ambivalent. His fine, dark eyebrows flipped, showing he wouldn't do that without... 

"N... no. It's like we said: When he's ready, we take him apart... together. But I don't think he is." 

"Dude, please. I noticed the black shit on his face first. Why do you think I dragged you away?" Sam's own ears detected the non-sequitur. His brother waving his eyelashes at him wasn't helping. 

"No fucking clue. You wanted some, too?" Jake dug in his front pocket and found a short pencil with a clear plastic cover over pitch black smudge. He held it out in his palm. What sort of offering he was making, he couldn't say.

Sam shook his head. "Stay on your side of the stage and don't look at me. No one wants to see you get jumped on stage." 

"Don't count on it. No one one wants to see you fuck up due to a boner." 

"I wonder," harrumphed Sam, who wasn't immune to the fact that they each drew a certain subset of fans, and within that, some with rather prurient interests.

"Lengthen your strap, then."

"What is that, a dick joke?" 

Jake looked down then up, gold-dotted brown eyes swirling pure lust. "Your dick's no joke. So, no. I just don't want the audience to see you like that..." 

"Aw, he's protective of baby brother," Sam giggled. "We don't all have moves to bang our guitar on the side of our knee. Very Steve Clark of you..." Laughter turned to serious intent as he backed Jake against a stray amp and slid a hand between his legs. 

"What!? No!" Jake choked. "Not another sideways reference."

"Just messing. Silly boy," chortled Sam, again transformed a teenaged boy, himself. His whip-thin torso pressed against Jake. "We have like sixty seconds before Danny goes out there. How about a snog? Before you sweat it off." His lips hovered closer and closer.

"Snog. You motherfucker." Tilting his face up and pushing with his hips, Jake felt warm cinnamon breath against his cheekbone.

"Nope. 'Brother'." Lips, tongue, lick lick lick DIVE. Slick and warm, a refuge where, away from all ears but theirs, they treasured their last thirty seconds of freedom for awhile. 

Fin.


End file.
